


won't you help to sing these songs of freedom

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (i swear at the end there is), (not going into details with THAT though), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar lives, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar won, Angst with a Happy Ending, Essos, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Family Secrets, Friends to Lovers, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, M/M, Prisoner of War, Separate Childhoods, Sexual Slavery, Slave Trade, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, What Was I Thinking?, in which i took a prompt and pretty much turned into a monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Told you it’d work out,” Robb says, smiling, and he looks so carefree right now, the way he might have looked in a life where he wasn’t taken from his family whichever it is and wherever it was, and Theon kind of wants to cry but doesn’t, if anything because he’d have never imagined that they could get away at all, or at least not so easily, and he had wondered at times how their lives might have been if they hadn't been -</i>
</p><p>
  <i>If they hadn't been.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Fuck me, it did. I just - thank you.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“For what?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I don’t know if I’d have held on this long without -”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Do you think I would have if you hadn’t been there? Gods, don’t even go there. I’m not - I hate that this has been my life, but meeting you has been about the one good thing that’s ever happened to me, so don’t you dare thanking me, all right?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't you help to sing these songs of freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo. Tumblr prompts. An anon asks _Throbb, canon au: Robb and Theon are taken away from Winterfell when they're children (for example, kidnapped by some slave-traders from Essos or anything you want) and are raised up together far away from Westeros and all the political problems. How will it affect the events (especially in Winterfell)? Since they are living together as an happy couple, how do they react when they heard the news? Do they remember where they come from?_ I honestly, honestly have no clue of how *this* spiraled out of it when I sat down to write it, but it happened. Watch me turn slavefic starting from a 'the rebellion went bad for mostly everyone' into ridiculous fluff. I don't even know anymore.
> 
> Also, I just want to apologize for poor Rhaegar because while I think he made a lot of dumb mistakes he was fundamentally Not a Bad Person, but in order for this to work I needed him to turn out being the mad kind of Targaryen. Sorry, R, next time I write you I'll be nicer to you. Also: Jon's name for 3/4 of this is totally what people have been speculating since the S6 finale aired, and tbh it's so unfitting that I couldn't avoid making jabs at it all the time. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Other than that: nothing belongs to me, the title is from Redemption Song because I was *that* desperate and really. I don't even know how I ended up with slavefic _fluff_ but I guess I have to make peace with it.

_“Lord Stark.” The voice is even, calm, collected. If Ned had thought that Aerys Targaryen had looked terrifying while sitting on the Iron Throne, he’ll take it back right now. At least Aerys was openly, unquestionably mad, but the kind of mad that’s completely detached from reality._

_His son is not. His son is_ entirely _aware of what is exactly that reality._

_“Your traitor friend has met his end. You, however, fought for nobler reasons. And I swore Lyanna that her family wouldn’t be a victim of this war right before she died. I wouldn’t want to go back on that promise now.” His fingers tap on the armrest of the throne. They don’t get cut. “Which is why I shall allow you to go back to Winterfell with your wife to take whatever you think you shall need, then come back here.”_

_“As_ what _, if I may ask?” Ned asks, already fearing the answer._

_“As hostages. Indefinitely. I need a North that will not turn against me, especially given what’s to come. But you see, I can’t let your deeds go unpunished.”  
_

_“Please, if you have to take your revenge just take it on me. I was the one taking Robert’s side, after all. My wife -”  
_

_“Oh, but I shall need the both of you alive. However, I hear she had a son in your absence. You haven’t seen them in three years, have you?”  
_

_“Your Grace -”  
_

_“You will see your wife again. As to your firstborn, though, I think he shall be made a fine example of what happens to whoever  thinks of going against the crown. Winter is coming, Lord Stark, and you should know that better than I. Shouldn’t you?”_

–-

Theon doesn’t bother keeping in a scream as he’s unceremoniously kicked under the ship’s deck and he falls down on a wet, dirty floor.

“See you back in Volantis, lad,” the Targaryen soldier who had dragged him here all the way from the great hall in Pyke, “and try to lose that look, because that’s not the look you want to sport when you get there. Blame your father.”

Then he shuts down the trapdoor.

Theon sits up, trying not to think about how much his legs are hurting after the initial impact, and takes a look around - there are a few lit torches down here, enough to see that the entire area is cluttered with children his own age or younger, chained as he is. He swallows, thinks about the king’s face as he told his father that he couldn’t allow _anyone_  to even think of rebelling, not when _winter was coming_ , and so he should pay for it with his male heir’s life.

Well, not his _life_ , given that they haven’t killed him yet, but if they’re going to Volantis -

He might be all of eight, but he knows what happens in Volantis.

He finds a free spot and crawls over - he’s next to a girl who can’t be older than ten.

“Do you know what they’ll do to us?” He asks.

She turns, looks at him and shrugs before looking back at her chained hands. She probably can’t even understand him. Gods, who’d be sostupid to go against a _mad_  dragon king after what he did in Westeros after the end of Robert Baratheon’s failed rebellion?

He tries to sit up straighter, maybe he’ll manage to find a position that’s not so uncomfortable -

As if it were his problem now. Or better, his main problem. Sitting comfortably. They’re going to sell him to some trader in Volantis and he’s going to be lucky if he ends up cleaning floors in some nobleman’s house in Essos, and he can hear how loud his mother had begged for Rhaegar Targaryen to change his mind -

He doesn’t even know when he starts sobbing, but the girl next to him sends him a disgusted look and moves away. Great, now not even people in his exact same position want anything to do with him.

He cries harder - no point in stopping it - and then he feels a tiny hand touch his leg.

He opens his eyes, wiping at them, and looks downwards. The tiny hand belongs to another kid who can’t really be older than four at best, his fingers are still slightly chubby in the way they always are at that age. He has long dirty hair that looks red in this horrid light, two bright huge blue eyes whose color you couldn’t mistake at any point, and at least his wrists are bound with rope, not chains.

“Are you from Westeros?” He asks, his lower lip trembling slightly.

“Yes,” Theon replies, sort of relieved.

“Oh. Ev’ryone else isn’t,” the kid says, and he also sounds relieved that he’s found someone he can talk to. “They caught you just now?”

Theon doesn’t know about _being caught_ , but it’s going to have to work. “Seems like it. You?”

He bites down on his lip. “Don’t know. A while ago. From Winterfell.”

Theon has a feeling getting attached is the last thing he should do here.

Theon also thinks about the prospect of going through whatever awaits him on his own and it’s so terrifying he’s not sure he can even stand starting to ponder the exact scenarios.

“I’m Theon,” he says, holding out his hand as best as he can, given that his wrists are chained.

“Robb,” the kid says, his hand slipping into Theon’s.

Theon grabs it back and hopes that he hasn’t just made things worse for the both of them.

–-

 _“Why am I -_ wrong _? Was that - was that the reason Mother died?”_

_Ned can see Cat’s face morphing into silent horror as she holds Sansa close to her chest. He’s sure that his own is reflecting the same feeling, but then again his nephew can’t really see that, not when he’s looking down at the ground trying not to burst into tears._

_In theory they shouldn’t even be seeing each other privately - good thing that Jon Connington is one of the few people in the court who kept their wits to themselves and agreed to cover for them._ It’s ridiculous that he shouldn’t know anything about his mother or where he comes from _, the man had told Ned back when they started with this arrangement._ And when I chose to fight for Rhaegar - well,  _this_ isn't the man I wanted to see winning. He should be able to see you. Especially when he looks like her.

 _And that has been the kid’s bane, hasn’t it. If only he had been born with purple eyes, Ned thinks sadly. Instead he’s Lyanna’s split image, and that has earned him no favors with his uncle or his half-brother and sister. Rhaegar seems to only care about what ends he might fulfill in the blasted prophecy he caused the whole rebellion for, every Dornish around the court seems to resent him because he’s the reason why the king betrayed Elia Martell, he has an aunt younger than he is and they’re barely even allowed to interact - the first time they brought him in their area of the Red Keep and told him that yes, he_ could _play with Sansa, he looked about to cry._

_Also, he doesn’t look like a Jaehaerys at all, does he._

_“You’re not,” Ned tells him, and he means it. “You just - look like her. But that’s not why she died. She was - she was too young to have children, maybe, but_ you _didn’t kill her, all right? I know she’d have loved you very much if she had survived. No one here thinks you’re... wrong - I don’t, Cat doesn’t, Sansa doesn’t.”_

_On cue, Sansa turns a bit into Cat’s arms and waves at them, smiling. Good thing she can’t understand the situation yet. “And the babe that’s coming won’t either,” Ned assures him as he glances at Cat’s swollen stomach. “And - well. Cat, I don’t think Robb would have as well, wouldn’t he?”_

_Cat shakes her head and moves closer, sitting down on the bed. “No. Your cousin was - the sweetest boy you could imagine. He’d have never thought_ anyone _could be wrong just for their looks. And he was about your age,” Cat sighs. “If only -”_

_“I’m sorry he ever did it.” Gods, the kid sounds so earnest. “I’d have - I’d have liked it if he was here, I think.”  
_

_“Well,” Ned tells him, moving closer, his voice dropping down to a whisper. “I sent your aunt a raven as soon as I knew. Before they came to take him, she - she made sure he could find his way home, should he want to. Do you want to know what it was? But you can’t tell your father.”  
_

_“I swear I won’t.”  
_

_It’s sincere. It_ really _is._

 _Ned lets out a breath and tells him_.

–-

Robb makes sure that _no one_  is around the hallway before he closes the door of the little room where he’s allowed to sleep, and then he takes down his breeches before his eyes move to the small tattoo in the middle of his thigh.

It’s been years.

He barely even remembers how he got it - he knows it _hurt_  and he knows there was a lady with eyes and hair same as his own who he’s sure must have been his mother who told him that she knew it would be painful but that it needed to be done should they find each other again.

It’s a small trout next to a stylized head of a wolf. Robb has no clue whatsoever of what that means - he might have tried to ask around years ago, but Theon was right when he told him that people in their position ask no questions and live longer, and anyway a wolf was the sigil of House Stark and a trout was House Tully’s, and both of them had pretty much being annihilated during Robert's rebellion, whatever happened. He knows it’s completely fucking stupid to even contemplate going back and finding out, not in their current situation, but still, sometimes - sometimes he still likes to at least look at it. If anything it means that he has a family somewhere who wanted him and never asked for this.

Differently from -

The door opens and Theon stumbles inside.

He’s also standing in a precarious balance - Robb immediately goes to his feet and holds him up by the arm, bringing him down on the small cot they have to share.

“Fuck,” Theon blurts out, and wait, doesn’t he sound _strange_?

Robb takes a better look at him.

“ _What_  -” He starts, noticing that there’s a tattoo on his cheek that wasn’t here yesterday.

A _tear_ , for -

“Our gracious _master_  decided he found a use for me after all,” Theon sighs. “And since it might be _painful_  to have it inked on your face he gave me some dreamwine so I wouldn’t move.”

Robb feels downright horrified - gods, until now neither of them had gotten _official_  tattoos on their faces if only because when they were first bought years ago by a rich Lyseni merchant who has a wife  _and_  concubines, who thought they were a good deal since he had small children who needed a _companion_  and he could use an older boy for menial jobs, they never really - well, settled. Robb spent years basically being at the beck and call of three spoiled children who wanted to be _just like their parents_  and thought he was some kind of plaything, but he could have had worse. At least, being that he always had to be with them, he got to listen to their lessons and can read and write as well as they can if not better, which is more than most slaves in the house can say for themselves.

Theon has pretty much gone through any menial job in existence. He’s cleaned the floors, worked in the kitchen and about done anything someone his age could reasonably and unreasonably have, and has had it plenty worse than Robb has up until now -

But he hadn’t thought it’d come to _this_.

“Gods, _no_ ,” Robb says, his hand going to Theon’s face, taking in the sight. “You’re - you’re _four and ten_ , they can’t ask you to -” He can’t even bear to say it. Theon shrugs.

“Well, sounds like it’s old enough and our gracious master has a few friends who have the _right_  tastes for - the use I should have. But - whatever. It’s - it could be worse.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?”

“What should I even do? I’ll endure it same as I endured everything else. Really, Robb, it’s fine. It could be worse.”

“ _How_?”

“He could have just sold me to a brothel directly.”

Which is - very true, and it’s already a miracle they haven’t separated them all these years in the first place, but Robb just can’t take the unfairness of it all. Not when Theon’s taken the worst of it and when he’s actually _a lord_ , for - never mind that he’s here just because the king thought it would be an exemplary way to punish his father. Robb doesn’t even remember where _he_  comes from, but it barely even matters.

He puts an arm around Theon’s shoulders and it says all that Theon closes his eyes and goes with it when Robb drags him downwards and they lie down on their tiny cot, barely managing to fit.

Robb swallows and figures that he should try to ask again.

“Listen, I know you’re tired and I know you’ll be even more from now on but - please, we should go on with those lessons -”

“No point,” Theon cuts him curtly.

“Theon, _damn it_ , if you can read and write _well_  there’s a higher chance to - at least live better than _this_  in a few years.” Fact is, it’s not that Theon _didn’t_  know how to read or write when they caught them, but before Robb could do it himself, three years had passed without practice. He can read, though not very fast, and he can write, but his penmanship is atrocious. They did spend an hour or so every night going about it up until a few months ago, but then they moved Theon to kitchen duty and that always takes him too much time and he’s always exhausted when he comes back.

“Yeah, well, that’s not a required skill for what I will need to do next now, is it?”

Robb wants to cry. He doesn’t know how Theon can joke about it but gods, _he_  couldn’t.

He also knows that it’s mostly unheard of slaves who manage to buy back their freedom but maybe, _maybe_ , if he can get as far as teaching, _maybe_  he could find some work on the side - that’s not forbidden if they’re careful - and maybe he _could_  -

“Robb, stop thinking about all the ways you can get us out of this and go back to Westeros to find at least your family. It’ll just hurt you in the long run. Sure as hell I’m better off without mine.”

Robb has to laugh about that, even if there’s nothing funny about it. “Who knows. Maybe one day I will. But that’s not about - them, whoever they are. I mean, it is, but maybe I just want what family I have _now_  to not be completely miserable, or is that wrong?”

Theon looks up at him, his eyes slightly wide, and it’s ridiculous that even after all those years he still can’t seem to believe it when Robb says it, but -

“You’re such a sentimental idiot,” he says, and it’s obvious he means none of it.

“I’m not going to deny that, but that doesn’t change it. All right? You’re my brother _now and always_ , am I clear?”

“You are, and - you’re too,” Theon says before dragging him closer again. Robb grabs at his back, running a hand along it, and thinks, _someday I’m getting the both of us out if it kills me_.

–-

_“It’s your own bloody fault. All of it!”_

_Asha, admittedly, does expect it when her father’s hand strikes her cheek, but it barely even hurts._

_“I dare you to -”  
_

_“Repeat it? All right, I will! I will! You had to lead a war against a king who’d have burned out of existence half of the kingdom if he had dragons like his bloody predecessors, you didn’t even blink when he said he’d take revenge on you by selling the only male heir you had left to fucking slavers from Essos, and when do you think she started losing her wits? And now she’s -” She stops - she can’t even think about it. She can’t think about her once beautiful and strong mother throwing herself off the highest tower in Pyke._

_The guards said she was asking for Theon. Of course she was._

_But Theon is somewhere in Essos, if he’s even still alive. Who knows. Someone his age doesn’t survive too long in chains._

_“It’s your own fucking fault. And if this is the kingdom I’m inheriting, if I ever do, I think I’m going to Harlaw.”  
_

_“Asha, I forbid you -”  
_

_“You aren’t forbidding me anything. I’m staying until the funeral. After then, find yourself another heir.”  
_

_She slams the door on her way out._

_She doesn’t cry. She hasn’t cried since the day her brother screamed his lungs out as they chained him in front of the king._

_She’s not going to start now_.

–-

“Theon.”

“What.”

“Something’s wrong.”

Damn Robb for being _this_  perceptive. Theon shrugs, sits back up on their bed that by now is really too tiny. He’s eight and ten by now, Robb is four and ten, they can barely fit on it. And the thing is - there’s a _lot_  that’s wrong.

Not strictly related to what Theon does to survive during the day and some nights.

He takes a deep breath, then looks at Robb and at his earnest face that hasn’t somehow changed since they met the first time and thinks, _I can’t let it happen to him_.

He moves closer, his hand curling into fists. “I heard our mighty lord discuss - things with his friends.”

“And?”

“And, and, _and_. The same friends he _loaned_  me to when I was your age. Their tastes haven’t changed, and - well, fuck’s - Robb, they saw you teaching history to the young lady.”

“They saw _me_?”

“Yes. And - this is _Essos_. Do you think northerners or people who look like you do are plentiful around here? I heard them talk about how - _interesting_  would be to be someone with your specific hair color. And eye color. And complexion. He said that you were too useful in your mansions, but he wouldn’t mind considering the occasional _loan_  if they pay well.”

Robb’s face goes pale at once - he’s tanned these days, more than he was back in the day, but differently from Theon’s, his skin doesn’t burn. He has freckles all over his cheeks, and he _does_  admittedly make quite a beautiful picture. A wholesome, handsome,  _exotic_  picture to them, most probably.

“I - I don’t know what can I do other than beg him to just say that _I_  am available, but -”

“We need to run.”

“ - I’m not sure it’ll be - _what_?”

“We need to run,” Robb says again. “I know where they keep some gold. You know where to find extra clothes. No one is around at this time of the night and we know our way around. In Braavos slavery is illegal - we just have to get there, we find someone to cover that tattoo with and then - who’s even going to find us?”

“Robb, maybe _I_  might pass for a local, but _you_  -”

“Well, fuck that, I’ll dye my hair, how hard can it be?”

“If they catch us -”

“ _If_ , if, if. Theon, how long has it been? Ten years? Eleven? I don't even know anymore. I can barely stand this and I don’t even  _remember_  life before they took me away, and _you_  did, and I can’t even think about the last four years because then I get angry and I feel like murdering all of them, our mighty  _master_  Ormollen first. Him, his wife, his precious concubines and his precious spoiled children who will just blame it on _me_  if they fail at anything because they can. And do you think they don’t?”

 _What_?

“Robb, what are you even -”

Robb laughs, and it’s not an amused laugh. He sounds _angry_ , and for a moment Theon’s terrified for anyone who might be at the receiving end of it - Robb is usually _not_  like this, but whenever he gets that hard look in his eyes, he becomes downright scary.

“I haven’t told you because I _know_  that you’re doing what you do thinking that you’ll spare me from the worst. And that’s appreciated. But - well.” He stands up and takes off his tunic, and when Theon sees an array of bruises on Robb’s back going from fresh purple to fading green, along with what looks like whiplash marks, he sees _red_.

“When -”

“Whenever the children aren’t behaved. Or haven’t studied their lessons. Or are somehow displeased with the way I _look after them_. It’s happened for years.”

“How didn’t _I_  know?”

“Theon, I had been on that ship longer than you,” Robb says, and now he sounds almost fond. “I learned how to hide it before you even stepped foot on it. It took them  _months_  to get us from Westeros to Essos, and I was there for months before they went to Pyke. I knew what you were doing. I didn’t want you to think it was for nothing. But - well, you staying here and sacrificing yourself won’t amount to a thing. And I’d rather die if they catch us rather than keep on staying here, especially when I can see that _you_  can barely stand it anymore.”

“Robb -”

“Theon. Please. We can go to Essos and find real jobs and earn real money and maybe one day we can go back home, when the next king comes. What do we even have to lose?”

He holds a hand out in between the two of them.

Theon doesn’t even think about it before reaching out and taking it. “You know what,” he says, “you’re right. We’re better than this. How long do you think it’ll take you to find the money?”

“I know where it is. If I’m careful, not long. The harbor is not _that_  far - we’re meeting back here as soon as we’re done. Then we’re leaving. No one is around the kitchens this late, we can take that way out.”

Theon takes a deep breath, then two, then he squeezes Robb’s hand and he stands up.

“All right. All right, I’ll go. Don’t get caught.”

“Who do you take me for?”

*

Robb doesn’t get caught. Theon doesn’t either. The captain of the ship who’s willing to bring them to Tyrosh doesn’t mind that Theon has the hood of his cloak tipped upwards, not when Robb gives him enough money to pay for passage for five people.

In Tyriosh, Robb asks around, finds the name of someone who inks slave tattoos for a living but also loathes the Lyseni on principle and offers him triple the usual price, again, for covering the black tear on Theon’s face.

“Very well,” the man tells them, pocketing the money. “Do you want anything specific to cover it? With how much you’re paying me, that’s the least.”

Theon looks at Robb’s determined face, he thinks _I couldn’t have done it without you, none of it_ , and he takes a decision. He doesn’t care if it’s going to be _strange_. But what would others know?

“Robb?”

“Yes?”

“Show him yours.”

“ _What_?”

“I want the same as yours. If you want me to, of course.”

“Are you sure? It’s not exactly -”

“It’d be conspicuous anyway. Show him.”

Robb swallows and drags down his breeches enough to show the man the small tattoo still standing against the pale skin of his thigh.

“Well, that’s your money and your poison,” the man declares.

Theon’s tear turns into a wolf’s head with a trout just next to it. His entire face _hurts_ , but he decides it’s entirely worth it.

They board a ship for Braavos the same evening. They have enough money left to _maybe_  find lodgings when they’re there, but they’ll work it out.

As he looks up at the night sky, Theon thinks that the stars look more beautiful if you’re a free man.

“Hey,” Robb says as he joins him on the dock. “How are you doing?”

“Still hurts like the seven hells, but I’m not regretting it. Shit, we did it, didn’t we?”

“Told you it’d work out,” Robb says, smiling, and he looks so  _carefree_  right now, the way he might have looked in a life where he wasn’t taken from his family whichever it is and wherever it was, and Theon kind of wants to cry but doesn’t, if anything because he’d have never imagined that they could get away at all, or at least not so easily, and he had wondered at times how their lives might have been if they hadn't been -

If they hadn't been.

“Fuck me, it did. I just - thank you.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know if I’d have held on this long without -”

“Do you think _I_  would have if you hadn’t been there? Gods, don’t even go there. I’m not - I _hate_  that this has been my life, but meeting you has been about the one good thing that’s ever happened to me, so don’t you dare thanking _me_ , all right?”

Theon doesn’t even know what to say at that, because it’s _too much_ , entirely too fucking much -

And then Robb moves closer. He’s tall for his age, though not as much as Theon is, not yet, and he’s standing _this_  close to him, his hands going delicately to the sides of his face.

Then he moves forward and kisses the corner of his mouth softly, once, but _definitely_  with intent.

“Robb -” Theon blurts out when Robb moves away.

“I’m _not_  going to do it if you don’t want me to,” Robb says, so very seriously, “but if you do - want it, well, I want it too.”

It’s not that Theon’s never kissed anyone in his life. He’s kissed all too many people.

Not people he _wanted_  to kiss, though. When he moves forward himself and brushes his mouth against Robb’s it’s the first time he actually does kiss someone he _wants_  to kiss and maybe has wanted to for a while, and sure as the seven hells it’s the first time he kisses someone he loves, and when Robb presses back and throws his arms around his neck he thinks, _maybe after all it could be worth it, if we get to keep this_.

–-

_Servants around the Red Keep never say out loud that it’s fairly obvious that young prince Jaehaerys does seem to be somewhat happy only if he’s around his cousins._

_That’s probably why they have been perpetually confined in an area of the Red Keep they aren’t supposed to leave if not for formal occasions._

_But what Rhaegar Targaryen doesn’t know, and what Ned Stark does know, is that there are secret passages everywhere and the fact that_ they _can’t leave doesn’t mean that anyone can’t come in or visit._

 _Sometimes he wonders,_ what if I had gotten to Lyanna first _. Maybe he could have pretended that her baby was his, instead. Maybe he’d have spared the lad the horrific life he seems to be living._

_He had looked marginally happier when coming in before and finding Arya and Bran overtly excited that he could come and visit after two weeks, and where had he ended up in the first place?, but now that he’s asked to talk to him face to face he looks more sullen than a boy of barely fifteen should ever look._

_Ned thinks that Robb would have had the same age, had he lived. Or had he stayed with them._

_Then he tries to not think about it._

_“Magister Myopatis brought these eggs from Braavos,” his nephew says, softly. “He says they’re dragon eggs. One for each of us, in theory.”  
_

_Him, his brother and his sister - they barely even interact, as far as Ned knows. Aegon is definitely Rhaegar’s favorite, given that he has the looks of a true Targaryen. Rhaenys doesn’t, but she was the first and she doesn’t look like an insult to anyone named Martell who roams around the palace still._

_“Why, in theory?”  
_

_He shrugs. “According to - Father and Viserys, they should all be Aegon’s. Since he’s the - the prince and everything. Whatever it is that they mean. Still, they decided we should all have them.”_

_“And?”  
_

_“Mine is warm. I mean, to me at least. The others aren’t. To anyone, as far as I know. And - I should have lied.”  
_

_Ned can imagine why. “I’m sorry,” he says, earnestly. He can’t offer any more than that. “You didn’t deserve any of it. I know your mother would have hated this. I wish there was anything I could do, but -”_

_“I know. It’s - thank you.” He smiles a tiny bit as he says it, and gods, how can you hate someone who will look at you like_ this _if you treat him fairly? “It’s just - I don’t understand it. The only reason they seem to care is this prophecy, but if it’s all about Aegon then why do I have to be - to be with_ them _? I’d rather be with you. I only have their name, I guess. But I don’t think I’d want it if I could choose.”_

_Ned swallows down bile and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Well, whatever you do and whatever happens, you’re always welcome with us. You know that, don’t you?”_

_“I - I do,” he replies, glancing towards the door leading to the next room where his cousins are.  
_

_Ned is just sad that_ he _won’t be the one inheriting, when Rhaegar dies._

_–-_

“The king is dead.”

Robb almost burns his hand over the fire where he was attempting to cook their dinner for the evening, with what little meat he managed to buy at the market today. They don’t get it often, and he’s not really good at cooking, but he doesn’t want Theon to do it if he can, and given that Theon still gets them by with heavy lifting work he’d rather do it himself.

“ _What?”_

“They were saying it at the harbor today. Better than that, it was - gods, you won’t even imagine. It’s such a ridiculous story, I can’t believe it.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Seems like someone gifted them three dragon eggs they found somewhere in old Valyria? I have no fucking clue. Anyway, the king’s always been crazy about some prophecy that included three heads of a dragon and that entire war happened because he _needed_  to have three children apparently, and his wife couldn’t give him the third. And so the third is actually Lyanna Stark’s.”

“I knew that. So?”

“So, well, he does whatever this prophecy had asked for, or what _he_  thought it would. It worked, but he didn’t tell anyone.”

 _What_?

“Sorry, you’re saying he _hatched three dragons_?”

“In the dungeons of the Red Keep. Then kept them there for a year.”

“Oh gods. Don’t tell me that -”

“He wanted to _gift_  them to his son. The second-born. Who was named Aegon and looked like him and everything. Looks like it was a bad idea and the dragons weren’t happy with it.”

“As in?”

“As in, they roasted them both alive and only calmed down when our third son came into the dungeons along with his aunt. And all of a sudden, everyone else decided that _he_  was the true heir all along or _something_ , so we have a new king. He’s going to get crowned shortly, or so I hear.”

Robb swallows and puts the meat away from the fire.

“Well, I guess it can’t be bad news.”

“In theory, for us it changes nothing. But you want to go there, don’t you?”

Robb shrugs and stands up, putting his hands on Theon’s arms - two years of freedom did him good. He put on healthy muscle mass, they’ve been eating not much but certainly more than they did in Lys, his hair isn’t as long as their masters forced it to be back in Lys and Robb _knows_  that they’ve made themselves a nice little life here. They’ve been happy, for sure. He could just ignore it. But then he sees the mark on Theon’s face, the mark _his family_  left on him -

“What if I do? We don’t have to.”

“I know,” Theon says, “but - but you want to. And - listen, I wouldn’t have found it in myself to run away if it hadn’t been for you. I guess that I owe you to come with now, shouldn’t I?”

Robb can’t help it - he smiles as he drags Theon closer and kisses him full and open in the sunset warm light coming in from the window.

At worse, they can always come back, can’t they?

–-

_“Do I have to keep my name?”_

_The question is so quiet, Ned barely hears it and he’s sure it’s the same for Jon Connington. They had been both preparing Jaehaerys for the crowning, which will be in a short while, and thankfully Viserys hadn’t tried to object to it. Not when his_ nephew _can apparently spring a dragon on him._

_Said green dragon is currently curled up on the floor of the room, not doing anything other than looking at them. Ned tries to not feel too scared of it._

_“What do you mean exactly?” Lord Connington asks.  
_

_“Well, it’s - I never felt like one of them,” he replies, shrugging. “I know it has to be Targaryen. He was my father and - that’s not the point. But the name. Does it have to be - mine?”  
_

_“Well, I heard stranger things that kings changing their own names,” Ned replies. “Why, don’t you like yours?”  
_

_“It feels wrong. It always felt wrong. It might have belonged to two wise rules and everything, but every time anyone’s ever called me by it, it always felt as if I didn’t_ look _like it. Does it even make sense?”_

_Ned thinks he does._

_“Lord Stark is right,” Lord Connington says. “You can do whatever you want, I suppose. Choose whatever you wish. It’s your reign, after all.”  
_

_The boy nods._

_“Do you have something in mind?” Ned asks.  
_

_“I think I do,” the boy says.  
_

–-

“What the fuck?” Theon sounds completely baffled when they’re finally off their ship, settled at a tavern and asking for information. “You’re shitting me,” he tells the sellsword.

“Why should I? Yes, we have a new king. Yes, he changed his own name to something very much un-Targaryen. No, no one tried to dissuade him. Given that he has a dragon and his aunt has apparently  _two_  and since they found out that they have _that_  in common they have become quite closer than they used to. Anyway, what do two random commoners from Braavos want from him?”

Robb clears his throat. “Well, let’s say that - I think I might - I had family in Westeros before someone sold me off to slavers. I think they wanted me to find them later. But I need help with that. But that’s not _my_  problem. _He_  has more serious matters to discuss.” They agreed on making Theon try and seek an audience first, since  _him_  asking about the state of his house would have made more sense.

“Well, you’re lucky. King _Jon_  Targaryen, first of his name _indeed_ , said he’d start listening to commoners again weekly. If you go in line, you might get an audience.”

That was a lot more than Robb would have assumed. Good thing that.

“I still think this is a completely dumb idea,” Theon tells him as they get in line indeed when the day comes. “What if he’s like his father? He’s going to send us back to -”

“Slavery is outlawed in Westeros,” Robb says. “And he changed his name to _Jon_ , do you think he’s the same kind of person?”

Theon has to agree - he moves closer so that their sides are touching and flips his hood upwards, just in case someone notices the tattoo and thinks it’s something strange.

He hadn’t thought that they actually _would_  get to have an audience. But the line moves fast, everyone who comes back is crying in happiness about how this new king seems gentle and compassionate and everything his father and grandfather weren’t.

“Well,” Robb tells Theon, “at least he’s definitely not sending us back.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Robb says, and maybe he’s too hopeful and he should have learned better, but by the time it’s their turn, he’s too busy marveling at the palace and how huge it is and at how their master’s house in Lys looks like a commoner’s tavern in comparison to be _worried_.

And then it’s their turn.

The gentle and compassionate king is actually about Robb’s age more or less, and - he looks nothing like a Targaryen, he notices at once. Black curly hair, solemn grey eyes on an equally solemn face, and he’s actually all dressed in black, not silver as he’d have imagined.

“Your Grace,” Robb says.

“Your Grace,” Theon echoes.

“Thank you,” _Jon Targaryen_  replies, looking at the both of them, and - when his eyes meet Robb’s he looks surprised for a moment. Then he stands up from the throne and takes a few steps further. “Please, do tell what brings you here.”

Theon takes a deep breath and pulls down the hood.

“Your Grace, I’m afraid I cannot give you any proof of it, but - it’s a question of inheritance, I suppose.”

“I shall be glad to hear that, then - _wait_.”

The king moves closer and stands in front of Theon, staring at the tattoo on his face and then at Robb as if he’s seen a ghost.

“May I ask what’s _that_  for?” He says, his voice trembling.

“Uh, that’s,” Robb starts, then he shakes his head. “We are both Westerosi, but ended up on a slave ship when we were young. I don’t remember why, he - well, that’s the reason we’re here. But - we were sold off in Lys, eventually, and then we escaped. He had a tattoo on his face and we had to cover it and he asked the man to, copy one that _I_  had.”

“ _You_  have a tattoo like that?”

“On my thigh, yes,” Robb confirms. “I - I think it was my parents, I remember that whoever made me get it told me that it would help me find my way home someday, but -”

“What’s your name? I mean. Your _real_  one. If you have it.”

“I only know that,” Robb says. “I don’t know about my family. But - Robb. Why?”

He doesn’t know why the _king_  looks like he might be about to cry. But then -

Then he calls for one of the Kingsguard knights standing around the place. “Ser, can you please get the Master of laws?”

“Your Grace?”

“ _Please_. Right now. And Lady Catelyn, too.”

The guard runs off and he looks back at the two of them.

“And how about _you_?” He asks Theon.

“I - my name is Theon Greyjoy.” The king _does_  seem to understand the implications when he hears the surname. “Uh, your - your late father defeated mine when he rebelled years ago and he saw fit to send me to Volantis, as well, for -”

“I know,” the king replies, sounding pained. “I imagine you want to be reinstated now?”

“I merely wanted to know what became of my family, truth to be told,” Theon replies. “We barely even thought we’d get an audience.”

“As far as your family goes, your father still lives. Your sister has gone to Harlaw, though. After - after your lady mother died a few years ago. I am sorry to say.”

Theon doesn’t try to hide the flinch coming across his face. “That would hardly your fault. Your Grace.”

“About that - gods, this is - guards, can you please leave us all alone?”

 _What_?

“Your Grace, the procedures -”

“ _Please_.”

The Kingsguard does what he’s told and nothing happens until the room is emptied out. Then _Jon Targaryen_  takes off his crown and cloak, dumping them without ceremonies on the throne.

Robb is _fairly_  perplexed here.

“Your Grace -” he starts, and then the man looks _pained_.

“Gods, don’t,” he says, “I can’t - I should be waiting to tell you, but - _you_  out of everyone shouldn’t call me titles.”

Robb _now_  is feeling completely baffled.

“I - I am sorry?”

“Did you ever wonder what could that tattoo mean?”

“I told him back in the day,” Theon says. “It looked like house sigils. Stark and Tully. But as far as we know both houses were pretty much annihilated during the war.”

“Not exactly,” the king says. “And that was correct. Also, neither is annihilated. The Tullys are still in Riverrun, albeit without ruling powers. The Starks were always here. As hostages. In _my mother’_ s memory. My father decided to spare them to honor her wishes. But - I see that you’ve experienced that he thought sending away... firstborn sons of his enemies was a fair punishment.”

Suddenly, understanding downs in Theon’s eyes. Robb still isn’t quite understanding it.

“Fuck, Robb,” Theon says, “he’s just told you that you’re _his bloody cousin_.”

Robb freezes at once.

“ _What_?”

“Your father told me that your mother had someone ink that on you so that they could find you later. Or you could find them later. I don’t know. But I doubt anyone else could have it on their _thigh_ , couldn’t they?”

Robb thinks he wants to _faint_.

And that’s when two other people come into the room and -

The man looks like he could be the king’s father, for how alike they look, but the woman -

The woman has his eyes and hair and she’s older and wearier but he thinks he remembers that face.

He remembers it indeed, and the way she’s looking at him back is pretty much telling.

“ _Robb_?” she asks, sounding like she can barely believe it.

He nods once, not even knowing what he should say, and then she’s gone straight up to him, taken a good look at him and - when she came into the room she was holding herself up all properly, but now as she crushes him against her chest she _isn’t_ , and -

“Mother?” He asks, not even daring to say it loudly.

She breaks down in tears as she replies that _yes, she’d know him anywhere_.

He doesn’t even try to hold his own back.

Gods, he couldn’t even have _imagined_  -

He doesn’t even know how long it lasts but he doesn’t move until he actually hears people talking behind him.

“And you’re saying you were with him all along?” That’d be - Eddard Stark, Robb supposes, who’s talking to Theon. He moves away a tiny bit and his _mother_  lets him, even if she’s still not letting him go.

“He was,” Robb confirms. “And - I don’t think I could have made it if he hadn’t been.”

“I couldn’t have either,” Theon says, sounding choked. “And - gods, I wasn’t really expecting for this outcome.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Lord Eddard - his _father_ , gods - says then, grabbing at Theon’s hands and holding them in both of his. “We weren’t sure he had even lived and the tattoo was - well, it was a last resort, I guess, but - _thank you_.”

“I could say the same,” Theon replies quietly, looking like he might cry himself.

“Gods,” Lady Catelyn says a moment later, “I hadn’t dared hope - but you’re _here_  and - Ned, do you think we can call the children down here?”

“I think we should,” he replies. _What_?

“Uh, children?”

“You have two sisters and two brothers. Who have all been dying to get to meet you if you were ever returned to us.”

Robb thinks he might _faint_. “Actually, I - Ned, maybe we should both go get them.”

“Well, we’ll find you all here, won’t we?”

Robb nods, unable to speak, and they leave almost hurrying out of the door.

“Your Grace,” Theon starts.

“ _Please_  none of that.” The poor man sounds pained. “I never wanted this, and I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing here, and just - _they_  are my family more than my real one has ever been, and I can’t take any of them calling me with titles. You are,” he tells Robb. “Please don’t.”

“Fine,” Robb says, trying to gather back his wits. “How should I call you then?”

When the _king_  smiles, he actually looks everything but one. And he’s not that solemn anymore. “Jon will do, really. And same goes for  _him_.”

“What -”

“If you’re _his_  family I guess you’re mine, too,” he replies, fairly straightforward, and Robb’s chest is swelling with so much happiness he doesn’t know if he can’t even keep it in. He reaches out and his hand finds Theon’s, who locks it in his own with an iron grip.

“He is,” Robb says, “but I’m glad I found more of it. Jon.”

Jon kind of beams back at him in a way that makes him look his age and not ten years older than he actually most probably is.

Robb can’t begin to guess what happens now, but -

But he thinks he’ll be happy to find out.

 

End.


End file.
